


Lover's Knot

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Auction, F/F, Fashion & Couture, Historical Fantasy, Inspired by The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes, Masks, Murder Wives, Period Typical Attitudes, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: The Bandit swept into a deep bow. “Madame, you are a perfect creature. In fact, your beauty puts that pearl necklace you wear to shame. Let me relieve you of it.”Arabella took off the necklace immediately and handed it over to the highwayman. In truth, while she was fond of pearls — they went so well with her skin, both being so pale and luminous — this particular necklace she held with little regard, as it was a present from Lord Graves, her despised intended.
Relationships: A Lady of Quality/Female Highwayman, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Lover's Knot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



> Written for Equality Auction 2020 for Prinzenhasserin. Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> Thank you as always to my beta, El.

The history of female highwaymen in this country is extremely sparse. There are some who say that such creatures have never existed at all. But they’re quite wrong, for the Bandit of Blackshore was one of the greatest highwaymen — and just as famous as the gallant Gentleman Jack Cutler and the Mad Butcher of Garrick in her day, which was two hundred and fifty years past. 

The story began, as stories often do, with a cruel act done by a powerful man. In this case, it was the hanging of Bess Cramer’s father for poaching on the king’s land. There was little evidence against him; Thomas Cramer was an honest naive man who lived quietly with his daughter in a cottage near the edge of Blackshore Forest. The two of them were the sole survivors of a plague that had swept through the town when Bess was a girl. The rest of the family, all seven of them, had perished.

The man who brought about Thomas’ fate was Lord Windermere, whose land it was where the alleged crime took place. Lord Windermere had come down from town with his friends to hunt deer. The party included Lord Graves, who was very fond of hunting and whose parliamentary influence was needed for the success of one of Lord Windermere’s schemes. But no deer could be had on Lord Windermere’s land, not for love or money, much less the wheezing exertions of middle-aged men more used to the comforts of the club than the pursuits of the hunt.

However, Lord Windermere was not put off. He determined that if Lord Graves could not be provided with a satisfactory hunt, they would still have sport — albeit in a different way. 

It was determined by the sheriff — with Lord Windermere’s guidance — that the sudden drop-off of deer in the Blackshore Forest could only be blamed on poaching. Moreover, the poacher could only be the person who lived closest to the forest. Thus, Thomas Cramer was brought up on charges and duly hanged.

His young daughter Bess witnessed his death and her cries of his innocence were wholly ignored. Meanwhile, in the covered dais some ways from the gallows sat Lord Windermere and Lord Graves, along with young Lady Arabella, who was Lord Windermere’s only child. 

The young girl was deeply affected by the scene, but her elders were not. Lord Graves departed from Blackshore shortly afterwards and Lord Windermere never received his special favour. 

Thomas Cramer died for naught. Young Bess was never seen in the neighborhood again. It was presumed that she had died, alas. 

#

Ten years later, Lady Arabella was on a coach from town to her ancestral home. She was in a state of tense anticipation, for she had heard tell that there was a highwayman who now haunted this stretch of road. Arabella considered herself something of an expert on highwaymen — she had visited the cell of Gentleman Jack Cutler before he was hanged, and he had acted very civilly towards her. 

Thus, her fascination had been sparked. 

Arabella was a lady of tolerable beauty. Her eyes were large and bright, the color of warm brandy. Her looks were rather out of fashion at present, for she wore her dark brown hair piled loosely above her head and did not bother with either powdering or wigs, for she had once seen a mouse burrow in a lady’s wig and had sworn just then that such a thing would never happen to her. 

Her only concession to current fashion was a patch in the shape of a heart on the apple of her rosy left cheek. It was that cheek she pressed against the glass of the coach window, for she fancied she heard the sound of two horses galloping towards them. 

But she was not fancying it at all. There were two riders coming towards them, and moreover, the carriage suddenly lurched to a stop when one of the riders shot into the air and delivered such famous words as would bring shivers to even the stoutest of hearts.

“Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!”

“Oh, my lady!” cried Berthé, Arabella’s maid. “It must be the wicked highwayman who is said to haunt these woods — the Bandit of Blackshore, who has robbed every noble who has come through here. I fear our time has come!”

“Indeed!” said Arabella, in a state of considerable excitement. “Let us hope that the Bandit will prove to be as gallant as Gentleman Jack Cutler.”

At this, Berthé gave Arabella a rather doubtful look, but there was no more time to question her, for the coach truly was stopped. Then there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by a command for whoever was inside to come out with their valuables.

Both Arabella and Berthé exited the coach with considerable haste. Arabella’s heart broke at her first sight of the Bandit, for he was but an ordinary-looking man whose face was only partially hidden by a low-slung hat and a scarf across his nose and mouth. 

Gentleman Jack favored a mask specially made for him in Venice, which had cost him a prince’s snuffbox — or so he had told Arabella. 

The disappointing bandit was busy speaking to the coachman and ignored them entirely. Arabella sighed impatiently. It seemed absurd that she should be obliged to _wait_ to be robbed. She was occupied by such thoughts when she heard a polite cough at her shoulder.

She turned and saw a sight that put all her hazy memories of Gentleman Jack out of her mind altogether. If the other bandit was a disappointment, then this one was more handsome than Arabella’s wildest dreams. 

He was tall — well, taller than Arabella — and as slim as a youth. His face was disguised with a black silk scarf, tied across his eyes. The holes cut out from it showed a pair of piercing dark blue eyes. The man’s full lips twisted into an amused smile at Arabella’s shock. He took off his hat — revealing a head full of black, curly hair — and bowed to her.

“My lady, forgive us for this brief intrusion,” said the Bandit of Blackshore, for who else could it possibly be? His voice was higher than Arabella had expected, but it was also very pleasing indeed. “We only require a brief donation for the sake of the children of this shire. Once that is done, you will be on your way to your Windermere Hall.”

“Windermere Hall?” Arabella exclaimed. “So you know who I am?”

“Lord Windermere and his family have been the subject of my especial interest for years now. I could recognize you by sight, Lady Arabella.” 

“Why, I don’t know what to make of that,” Arabella said. “I hope your impression is a good one.” 

The Bandit swept into a deep bow. “Madame, you are a perfect creature. In fact, your beauty puts that pearl necklace you wear to shame. Let me relieve you of it.” 

Arabella took off the necklace immediately and handed it over to the highwayman. In truth, while she was fond of pearls — they went so well with her skin, both being so pale and luminous — this particular necklace she held with little regard, as it was a present from Lord Graves, her despised intended husband. 

“Perfect,” said the Bandit, and Arabella felt a powerful need to step closer to him, to peer more deeply into those midnight-blue eyes. It seemed as if he felt that attraction too, for he took the first step. Arabella felt as if she would swoon. She had never felt this way before, not even in the presence of the gallant yet doomed Gentleman Jack Cutler.

“Sir…” Arabella murmured. 

The Bandit leaned down and kissed her gently. He caressed her cheek and she blinked, dazzled, and only noticed too late that he was holding her patch. 

“You are much prettier without this,” he said and threw the patch away. Arabella was outraged but also rather thrilled. 

“Sir, you are imprudent,” she said reprovingly. It was then that the Bandit’s companion shouted for him to hasten, as there were sounds of horsemen coming down the hill. The two of them disappeared into the woods, but not before Arabella cried out and asked if she should ever see the Bandit again. 

“Fear not, dear lady!” said the highwayman. “I believe we are indeed fated to meet.” 

“Not in front of a gibbet, I hope!” Arabella cried. “Your livelihood is a dangerous one, sir!” And though the highwayman seemed briefly surprised to hear such sense from Arabella, he did not reply and was gone. 

“Lady…” said Berthé, after the excitement had died down and they were once again on the way to Windermere Hall. “They say in my country that love at first sight is like being struck by lightning — that is to say, often fatal.” 

“You are so intellectual for a lady’s maid, Berthé!” Arabella cried out, leaning against the seat of the coach. Her face was still blushing. She had to sit perfectly still, or else she would be very much tempted to kick up her heels. To be struck by lightning would be a small price to pay to see the Bandit again! 

#

Windermere Hall had sadly fallen into ruin during the reign of the current Lord Windermere. He was rarely at home, preferring the pursuits of town instead. Arabella, however, had fond memories of the place — her mother, who had been the old lord’s daughter, had shown her all its secrets and hidden delights: the secret garden, the priest’s hole and the turret room. Her father had inherited the title only after his wife’s untimely demise. He had left Arabella to raise herself among servants and tutors until she was of marriageable age.

Alas, Arabella’s shy hopes of matrimonial bliss were dashed when her father announced, soon after her nineteenth birthday, that she would be married to the ancient Lord Graves within the end of the year. She was distraught. Lord Graves had already sent two wives to his namesake, and was clearly angling for more. He was personally disgusting, with an open leg wound that had appeared overnight five years ago. Wherever he went came the smell of rotting flesh. 

It was that scent which greeted Arabella as she strode into the great hall of Windermere. She stopped dead and hardly listened to her father’s greeting and his introduction of Lord Graves. 

“I had expected you sooner, Arabella,” said Lord Windermere with a censorious look in his eyes. “Were you perhaps delayed?” 

“It is no matter, Father,” said Arabella. “Why is he — I mean, why is Lord Graves here? I know he must be exceedingly busy in town.”

Lord Graves hardly stirred at the sound of his name, as he was snoozing beside the fire. 

“What could be more natural than for a man to come down to see his intended?” said Lord Windermere. “You must know that the banns for your marriage will be read soon.” 

“No!” Arabella exclaimed. “Father, you _must_ reconsider. Lord Graves is older than even you!” 

“What does that matter, you silly girl?” replied Lord Windermere coldly. “He has seventy thousand a year and no apparent heirs. If you would give up your childish notions of love and attraction, you will be a wealthy widow in five years or less.” 

Lord Graves snorted aloud at the mention of his likely death, but did not awaken. 

Arabella was overcome by her father’s inexorable nature and quit the great hall, retreating to her chambers, which had once been her mother’s. 

It was her mother who was on Arabella’s mind as she wept over her vanity, her sea-salt tears ruining the powder pot that she had ordered from France. Like her poor neglected mother, Arabella would soon be trapped in a marriage without an iota of love or respect. 

There was a knock at the door — it was Berthé with supper. Arabella told her that she was not hungry, but she could leave the tray on the table. Berthé seemed to want to say something, but Arabella made it clear that she was not willing to hear another bit of Gallic wisdom. 

Later on, Berthé came again to undress Arabella and prepare her for bed. Once that was done, Arabella bid Berthé goodnight. Dressed in a pure white lawn nightdress, Arabella sighed. Even the fineness of the lace did not soothe her that night.

Instead of going to bed, she sat by the window and looked out at the expansive park. She began to cry again. Thus absorbed, she hardly noticed the small sound of a pebble hitting the glass. 

There it came again. Arabella stopped weeping and dried her eyes. She looked down to the source of the noise and saw the Bandit standing on the white chalk ground outside her window, gesturing to be let in. 

“Why are you here?” Arabella said as soon as she opened the door. She looked around nervously, but could see no one else prowling the grounds. Judging from the carousing and shouts from the great hall, it seemed that Lord Graves had awoken and had demanded to be entertained. In such a state of distraction, it was not surprising that even a famous highwayman could steal onto Lord Windermere’s property without attracting notice. 

“If you do not wish to see me, I will go,” said the highwayman. He made a movement to go, but Arabella stopped him. She asked how he intended to visit her, as her room was on the second floor. But the Bandit proved as dexterous at scaling the wall as he had been at armed robbery. 

Arabella opened the window for him and nervously asked if he had been seen. He replied in the negative, and they were both still, waiting for some sign that he had indeed been spotted. 

“You have taken such a risk to be here,” said Arabella, her eyes shining. “Do you wish to plunder my trinket box further?” 

“I would not take anything you would not give me,” said the Bandit. It had been raining outside and so his cloak was wet. Arabella helped take it off and laid it on the chair beside the fire to dry. 

“And what do you do with the jewels and necklaces you take from ladies such as myself?” Arabella asked once they were settled. “Fence them in town so they can be sold again to ladies like me?” 

“One pearl from your necklace could feed a family in the country for a month,” said the Bandit. “I will not say that all my earnings I give to the poor —” 

“Oh? You are no Robin Hood, sir?” 

“No,” the Bandit replied. “I give a portion of it to those who need it, but it also takes some money to maintain all this —” He made an expansive gesture to his cloak and beautiful boots, his fine clothes. Arabella nodded. A highwayman’s outfit and horse were essential to his business, after all. 

They discussed his business further; the Bandit was somewhat surprised at Arabella’s continued enthusiasm for his profession and knowledge of the same. When she mentioned her visit to Gentleman Jack Cutler’s cell, however, he changed the subject quickly. Arabella noted that change and wondered if there could be some professional rivalry there. 

To smooth over the awkwardness, Arabella cast around for something to do. She remembered the supper that Berthé had left for her and offered it to him. It seemed to her that the Bandit must have been starved, for he fell upon the food with great gusto, though it was only bread and cheese, with fresh pears and warmed honey. 

“Why were you weeping at your window just now?” asked the Bandit, licking a spot of honey on his thumb. Arabella sighed. 

“It is because my father has decided that I will marry Lord Graves shortly, though he is old and hideous and I do not love him.” 

“I see!” said the Bandit. He looked at her with lively interest. “It seems that Lord Windermere still seeks to impress Lord Graves even now. But perhaps your fate has not been decided yet, my dear. He may still die before your wedding day.” 

“I cannot leave that to fate! His family were very long-lived,” said Arabella with true feeling. She was feeling wretched again until an idea occurred to her. “Sir, how old are you under that mask of yours?” 

“Why do you ask?” asked the Bandit. He grinned. “Are you afraid that I will prove as old as Lord Graves?” 

“Don’t be silly,” said Arabella. “It is only that — I am a virgin in all things. It seems to me a tragedy that my first and perhaps only time with another human being would be with that goatish old man. If you were so kind as to initiate me into the rites of Venus, I would be so very pleased.” 

From a glance, Arabella saw that she had surprised him. His words confirmed it. “You are a bolder lass than I first thought,” he said. 

“You are sitting on my bed,” she pointed out. It was a lovely bed, ornately carved and with a red canopy over it. Arabella patted the mattress and looked at him encouragingly. 

He agreed that this was so and swept her into a deep kiss. When he at last pulled away, he said, “But if I were to lay with you as man does with a woman, it may not be a kindness to you. Do you understand that?” 

“I care not,” said Arabella, “if by that you mean I shall be with child. My father will marry me off soon enough, and my old husband is in need of an heir.” 

“If you are sure…” said the Bandit. Arabella nodded eagerly and rose from the table. She offered him her hand and led him to her bed. The Bandit undressed her slowly and with care — not a piece of lace was torn in his haste, nor was a single curl of her hair displaced. He must be very experienced in extracting ladies from their dresses, Arabella thought with an excited tremble. 

They kissed again — a deep, fervent kiss. The Bandit’s long fingers strayed through Arabella’s long dark hair. “You are so lovely even without your finery,” he whispered, and she shivered in delight. 

More kisses followed, each more passionate than the next. Soon, Arabella found herself lying on her bed, quite naked except for her shift, while the Bandit licked the most secret parts of her sex. He was making a feast of it. 

“Oh!” said Arabella, throwing back her head. She had never felt such pleasure — the Bandit’s soft, sure touches only seemed to increase her ardor. It seemed that he was content to treat her for hours, which was altogether agreeable for her. 

But she couldn't help but notice one thing — though she was quite naked, her paramour was still almost completely dressed, although his mask had fallen off at some point, revealing a handsome young face that seemed oddly familiar to her. 

“Have we met before?” Arabella asked as the Bandit pulled away for a moment and wiped his mouth. He shook his head sadly. 

“I think not,” said the Bandit heavily. “At least, never face to face.” 

“And yet you know me and my father well enough…” Arabella sat up straight and sighed. “If you are on a quest for revenge against my father, I beg you to realize that you cannot hurt him through me. He cares very little about me.” 

“That is a pity indeed,” said the Bandit. “And yet you try so hard to please him.” 

“Give me a reason to turn against him,” Arabella replied. She looked at him critically. “You are completely dressed. Take off your shirt.” 

The Bandit raised an eyebrow. “Do you command me, lady?” 

“I do,” Arabella said. “Otherwise it is simply too unfair for me to lie about in bed, confessing that my father does not love me.” 

With some hesitation, the Bandit slipped off his fine black coat and began to unbutton his shirt. Arabella tried to neaten up her disheveled hair and pull a sheet over her breasts. When the Bandit slipped off his shirt, Arabella saw that his chest was strapped tight with linen bandages. 

The Bandit looked at her challengingly. Arabella’s mouth fell open and her mind raced. Suddenly, many things slotted into place. She began to crawl over to where the Bandit kneeled.

“May I touch you?” Arabella asked. 

“Asking now, not commanding?” asked the Bandit, an ironic lilt to her voice. Arabella blushed hot. The Bandit took Arabella's hand and pressed it to her chest. Arabella’s hand lingered there long. 

They shared a look, long and heated. 

“Yes. Forgive me — I acted hastily,” Arabella confessed. “When I was young, I read of women running off to be soldiers and sailors, and wished to do the same, but —” She shrugged helplessly and gestured to her curves. “I was not blessed with a boyish frame.” 

“A boyish frame is easily gotten if you grow up an orphan without food or a home,” said the Bandit gravely. “Do you know who I am now, Arabella?” 

“You are Bess Cramer,” Arabella said. “I know it now. The village tattle said that you had sickened and died after your father’s hanging, but I see it was not so.” 

“Not so at all,” said Bess easily. “I left Blackshore and apprenticed myself to a highwayman. He taught me all that he had learned, and ere he was caught taking a shot at a philosopher, I was released into the wider world.” 

“Your mentor was not Gentleman Jack Cutler?” Arabella exclaimed. 

“He was the same,” said Bess. 

“I saw him before he was hanged. An extraordinary man. A parson’s son, can you believe it? And so young when he was hanged — twenty-three.” 

“I know the particulars of his story well,” said Bess with more than a trace of impatience. Arabella noted it and wondered if Bess did not nurture some seed of resentment towards her old master. It was true that Gentleman Jack had been a showman, and before the end, quite willing to give up all his associates for a chance to avoid the hangman’s noose. Arabella had thought this was merely a highwayman’s way, but something told her that perhaps that Bess would be different. Certainly, she was much more generous — in bed, if nowhere else. 

“Are you — I am abashed to ask, but I must,” Arabella said hesitantly. “Are you a woman or a man?”

“I was born Bess Cramer, but I do not know what I am now,” the Bandit confessed. “My old life does not fit me now. None of it.” 

“You are the Bandit, then,” Arabella declared. “You are what you prove yourself to be, sir.” 

The Bandit nodded. “You are more understanding than I would have expected from the seed of Lord Windermere.” 

“That is an insult indeed,” said Arabella. “But I must forgive you as my father hanged yours.” 

“You are right that I’ve always planned on getting revenge on him,” said the Bandit loftily, “but I think I'll help you get rid of the bothersome Lord Graves as well.” 

Arabella considered it for a moment, and then slapped the Bandit smartly across her face. The Bandit gasped and gave her an incredulous look. 

“That’s for trying to make me think you could make me pregnant,” Arabella said. “And insulting me, through my father. But otherwise, thank you for your help.” 

“You’re welcome, I suppose?” The Bandit said, still holding her face. Arabella thought her face flushed quite nicely and wished to see it grow warmer soon enough. 

“Quite right,” said Arabella with a proud toss of her head. “We’ll plan it together — er, after we’ve finished here.” 

“We haven’t finished?” the Bandit said with a teasing smile. 

“I should hope not,” said Arabella, pulling her down to the bed. 

#

The bells of Saint Candida’s Church rang out for this most doleful wedding day. The bride wore a dove-grey dress and a veil that was wrapped tightly across her face. Her groom listed strongly to the side. The church priest was appalled at the sight. Only the father of the bride took in the scene inside the old stone church with anything approaching satisfaction. 

It was late spring, and so the church was decorated in fragile daffodils and crocuses, but it was also piercingly cold. The wedding was sparsely attended — besides the bridal party and the groom, there were two witnesses who had been wrangled from the village, who stood awkwardly by the door, sensible of witnessing some great wrong being accomplished before their very eyes.

The bells rang for noon and the vibrations moved throughout the church, and the large statue of Saint Candida — martyred for speaking the truth of her faith to the enraged masses, who cut off her tongue — shivered. Legend had that the selfsame tongue had been secreted somewhere inside the statue, which had been carved in Italy by Bernini, or one of his followers. Her figure was rather twisted — a white marble face looking toward the pews. If anyone touched the toe of Saint Candida, they would be obliged to speak the truth and be believed. 

The priest spoke the words. “If any here should know why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

He waited hopefully, but the door of the church remained resolutely closed. However, it was a windy day — the bells were still ringing faintly. 

“Get on with it,” snapped Lord Windermere. “There is no one to raise any objections now.” 

Reluctantly, the priest went on and the ceremony was ended with a sickly kiss and then the signing of the contract. Just as the ink was drying, someone opened the door of the church and the wind came rushing in. Both the bride’s veil and the priest’s robes threatened to tear. 

A frightening figure appeared. 

He was a man all knew to have been hanged many years ago. The apparition shuffled through the aisle of the church, and from above came the clatter of many feet and voices. Lord Windermere’s sword was out and he slashed at the ghost’s robes as it passed him. But the ghost paid him no mind, stopping only when he reached the statue of Saint Candida. He touched her toe and turned to look at the party, all of whom stood stock-still, rooted to the spot.

“I am the ghost of Thomas Cramer,” said the dreadful fiend. “Unfairly condemned by the two before me, Lords Windermere and Graves. I have come on this day of your greatest happiness to collect your souls.”

“Good God! Philip, do you see it?” Lord Graves cried and fell into a swoon. His poor wife — for so she now was — caught him and screamed. 

“Oh! He is dead!” said the new Lady Graves. She dropped her husband on the ground. “Beware, my Lord!” 

But Lord Windermere did not mind the warning at all. Instead, he hastened forward, his sword outstretched. The ghost of Thomas Cramer had a knife and they dueled.

“I do not understand what is happening in my church,” whispered the beleaguered priest to Lady Graves, as the two of them pulled the slack body of her dead husband away from the fracas. 

“It is spiritual retribution, Father,” whispered Lady Graves, though the priest seemed to doubt this. But he had no opportunity to express this, for the duel had suddenly ended as Lord Windermere fell to his knees. He uttered a loud cry; his shirt was red with his heart’s blood. His killer looked upon him with pitiless eyes.

“No, no. I regret nothing,” Lord Windermere spat out before he breathed his last. 

“It has ended,” said the ghost of Thomas Cramer and dropped the sword on Lord Windermere’s body. There was another strong gust of wind and then, with a blink of an eye, the apparition was gone. 

One of the witnesses — thus far mysteriously absent from the chaos — emerged to help Lady Graves and the priest, and called for help. More and more people came into the church, and exclaimed at the horror they saw within. 

This event became a nine days’ wonder around the country, with many hotly debating whether the ghost was real or not. Some university students came down to investigate and slept in the church. One student found a trap door near the statue, but it seemed to be rarely used. Sophisticates from town dismissed it as superstitious chicanery, but Father Fingus, whose church it was where the Great Saint Candida Massacre took place, swore to his dying day that no human man could have done the things he witnessed. 

#

Lady Graves remained a widow for six months and was in double mourning for both her husband and her father. She cut a very fine figure in her expensive Spanish blacks. There was talk of bringing her up on charges of witchcraft, for she had the most to gain from the sudden and violent deaths of her relations, as she inherited two vast fortunes in one fell swoop. But Father Fingus vouched for her, and besides, she was rich and thus untouchable.

The rise of Lady Graves also coincided with the sudden retirement of the Bandit of Blackshore, whose last victim was the selfsame Lady Graves. It seemed to be a rather light-hearted affair. 

Lady Graves was taking a leisurely ride in her phaeton when the highwayman halted her progress. Lady Graves held up a diamond ring to the sky, and said, “I will give you this ring if you give up your wicked ways, sir.” 

The Bandit chuckled. “Would such a ring be able to feed me, lady? House me? Clothe me?” 

“It would give you everything, sir,” she said. “And save all of those who love you the heartbreak of seeing you hang.” 

“A grim fate,” said the Bandit. “Perhaps I need more persuasion.” 

She crooked her finger to beckon him closer. He did and she whispered something into his ear. They shared a secret smile, and the Bandit rode off into the woods. He was never seen again and consequently was never hanged. 

Shortly afterwards, Lady Graves was introduced to a young stranger by the name of Thomas Black. Nothing was known about him, though his accent seemed to be of a neighboring county. All were impressed by his wit, culture and sense of style. His quick fingers made for very amusing jokes among the _ton_ , though some minded it. But Lady Graves did not — she found Black eminently charming, and they were soon married. 

Their wedding was held at Saint Candida’s Church, with no ghosts present and no bells ringing when they should not be. 

Their marriage was a successful one. Windermere Hall was restored to its former glory and the lives of many tenants were improved. Berthé was able to open her own dress shop, with Arabella’s patronage. The couple had twenty children, none of whom much resembled their parents. The children were often found haunting the woods around the Hall, dressed as highwaymen, much to the amusement of their fond parents. 

They were all happy and lived long lives filled with pleasure and good works. 

Who could ask for better? 


End file.
